


And Silence Will Reign

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Fallen Angels, M/M, Mute - Freeform, Mute!Cas, Season 8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Metatron took Castiel's Grace, he also took his angelic Voice.</p>
<p>But his human voice went with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Silence Will Reign

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, Tumblr has forced me to write a thing. Enjoy, Tumblr people.
> 
> Also, sorry if the italics didn't come out right. I'll try to fix it.

Cas doesn’t say a word when Dean finds him. He doesn’t respond to Dean’s frenzied questions, doesn’t give any indication to whether he’s alright or not. He doesn’t answer when Dean calls his name. He is completely, totally mute.

And it’s irreversible, too.

He doesn’t want to tell Dean yet. He still knows sign language—of about a dozen different types—and he can write in any language imaginable, but he can’t bring himself to tell Dean about it. he doesn’t want to dwell on what he’s lost, what he’ll never regain no matter how hard he tries.

This happens, sometimes. When an angel falls, they lose their Grace, their very essence, their Voices. Sometimes, if the Grace is removed in the wrong way, or without care, their regular voices can be taken away along with it. It’s clear that Metatron didn’t care if he damaged Castiel beyond repair.

Dean carts him off to the car and places him in the backseat, next to a disturbingly silent Crowley. Castiel can’t bring himself to be afraid. At this point, it doesn’t matter if he’s killed. He’s useless now anyway, without his Grace. 

All four of them seem to be beaten in some way. Castiel has lost his everything, and his voice as well. Sam is shivering and seems unable to hold his head up, groaning in pain every few minutes. Crowley is in chains and has his head leaned against the window, eyes closed and breath shallow. Dean keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, eyes flitting nervously from his brother to the fallen angel to the risen demon. They’re a beaten, broken group of people, that’s for sure.

“Cas? You okay?” Dean finally asks, voice hardened by worry.

Castiel shakes his head. He can’t do much else.

“What’s wrong?” Dean demands, keeping his eyes off the road for a dangerous amount of time as he’s prone to do. Cas shrugs and shakes his head, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest and he can feel tears welling in his eyes. Of all the things that have happened to him, this is one of the worst.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me,” Dean mutters, and turns his attention back to the road. He presses down on the gas pedal with a little more intensity than necessary, and Sam groans. 

Cas feels his heart plummet. He opens his mouth to try to tell Dean that no, this isn’t his choice, he wants to tell him what’s wrong, but nothing comes out. All he gets is a small raspy noise, barely loud enough to be audible. He swallows in vain, trying to work moisture into his throat, but he knows it’s futile. 

Dean’s looking at him again, eyes wide and jaw slack. Castiel tries to communicate his situation with his eyes, nodding rapidly. He can see that Dean understands.

“Shit,” Dean whispers, and speeds up.

XXXXX

Cas has been at the Batcave for two days, and he hasn’t come out of his room—or rather, the room Dean dumped his nearly unconscious body into. His legs haven’t been able to support him for long enough to walk further than the bathroom that adjoins to his room. From what he can hear, Sam hasn’t been up in a while either, and Crowley is locked away somewhere.

It’s the second day when Dean comes to visit and Cas is fully awake. He’s been in before to bring food and water, but this is the first time they’ve made more than bleary eye contact. He brings a pad of paper and a fistful of pens and pencils with him, standing shyly in the doorway until Cas sits up in bed and waves him over. 

Dean sits awkwardly next to Cas’ folded legs, staring at the dusty carpet. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy from disuse. Cas wants to laugh at the irony, but he can’t make a sound. He knows; he’s tried.

“I thought you could tell me what happened,” Dean says quietly, holding out the paper and utensils to Cas. Castiel takes them carefully, hand shaking, and runs his fingertips over the smooth plastic of the pens. He twirls one in his fingers, dropping the others onto his knees. 

Cas nods, and sets the pen to paper. His handwriting is shaky and nearly illegible; he’s never had to write much before. He scratches out nearly as much as he gets down, sometimes slipping into other languages, and once scribbling an Enochian sigil that glows dimly before fading into the paper. It takes him a frustratingly long time, but Dean doesn’t move, just watches with sad eyes.

When he’s finished, Castiel hands the paper back to Dean and starts fiddling with the pencils on his lap. He arranges them in order of color, from red to blue to black, and then in order of size, and then by manufacturer while Dean struggles to make out what is written. To be fair, Cas isn’t very good at formulating ideas and sentences in a way that makes much sense—at least when writing—and he takes a while to read the note.

_Metatron betrayed us all. He did a spell to make every one of us fall. Me. All of the angels are on Earth now, dead or amnesiac or human. The spell required an angel’s Grace, and he used mine. When he cut it out of me, he also took my Voice with it. He wasn’t careful in doing so, and took all means of verbal communication as well. I can’t talk. I am mute._

Dean looks up at Cas with horror in his eyes. He swallows hard and folds up the note, clutching it tight enough to wrinkle the yellow paper. Cas doesn’t meet his eyes, and keeps fiddling with the pens.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, his voice breaking.

Cas looks up at him and tears another sheet of paper from the pad, scribbling one lone word on it. _Sorry._

Dean shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t be sorry, Cas. You didn’t do this.”

Can nods slightly, and touches the tip of the pen to his tongue to get the ink flowing better as he’s seen Sam do countless times. _How’s Sam? Crowley?_

“Sam is getting better,” Dean says with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been in his room for the last few days, just like you, but he’s in better shape. He actually eats what I bring him.” Dean forces a laugh.

Cas tries to smile at him.

Dean returns the smile gratefully. “Crowley is locked up in one of the dungeon rooms. I put a cot in it and I bring him food every now again, but he never does much. Once he asked for a book. I brought him _The Great Gatsby._ He seems… more human now, I suppose.”

Cas scrawls on the paper, trying to make the words more legible. _Good. That way he can’t hurt anyone._

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. He sounds tired and beaten, but he’s trying to seem happy for Cas, and that’s all that really matters. As long as he’s able to try, he’s able to keep living. At least, that’s what Castiel has been taught by being with him so much. “Human angels and a human demon. Everything’s human these days.”

Castiel exhales sharply, trying to convey laughter. Dean grins at him, obviously finding the attempt funny. Cas tries to glare at him, but it doesn’t last. He can feel his face softening and lips curving upward into a reluctant smile. He takes the paper back. _I’ll be okay. Will you?_

Dean nods and pulls Cas into a hug. Cas, startled, takes a few seconds to respond, but eventually wraps his arms around Dean hesitantly. Dean sighs and says, “So long as my family is okay.”


End file.
